เนื้อเพลง Smuckers - Tyler, the Creator

[Tyler, The Creator:]
For your boy
I'm watchin' Freaks and Geeks
With the trampoline on the floor
I'm tryna' cop the new McLaren
With the vertical doors, n*gga

Money, money, money, money
Money ain't the motive
What's your name again? Nobody knows it
Don't speak to me n*gga, you not impo'tant
I'm focused (2, 3, 4)
Bring in the horns
They say I'm nutty, I'm picnic basket
I'm short of a sandwich, I'm peanut b*tter
Boyce Watkin's a faggot, please come and get me
Said I s*ck him at your neck like a hickey, boy, I'm sicky
Like a HIV victim, ain't nobody f*ckin' wit me
I got banned from New Zealand, Whitey called me a demon
And a terrorist, goddammit, I couldn't believe in it
Ban a kid from a country, I never fall, never timber
But you f*cked up as a parent, your child idol's a n*gga
I clearly don't give a f*ck so you could run that sh*t back
And f*ck your loud pack and f*ck your Snapchat
Cherry Bomb
The greatest f*ckin' album since the days of sound
And that sh*t gon' pop
Just like that n*gga that was never 'round
Damn, bout to drop, gas 'em up, thick exhaust
Young T, came quick, hard to beat, d*ck is soft
We ain't lyin', we the truth, call him Simba, beats his hooves
Tyler, The Creator sweatin' Jesus juice
Put that f*ckin' cow on my level, 'cause I'm raisin' the stakes
Mom, I made you a promise, it's no more section 8
When we ate its the steaks, now our section is great
'Cause that's the level I'm at, my n*ggas pass 'em a plate
'Ye!

[Kanye West:]
Why, oh why, why, why don't they like me?
Cause Nike gave a lot of n*ggas checks
But I'm the only n*gga to ever check Nike

Richer than white people with black kids
Scarier than black people with ideas
Nobody can tell me where I'm headin'
But I feel like Michael Jordan
Scottie Pippen at my weddin'
They say I'm crazy, but that's the best thing goin' for me
You can't Lynch Marshawn if Tom Brady throwin' to me
I made a million mistakes, but I'm successful in spite of 'em
I believe you like a fat trainer takin a bite or somethin'
I wanna turn the tanks to playgrounds
I dreamt of 2Pac, he asked me "Are you still down?"
Yeah, my n*gga, it's on, it's on, it's on, it's on
I know they tell they white daughters
"Don't bring home Jerome"
I am the free n*gga archetype
I am the light and the beacon
You can ask the deacon
It's funny, when you get extra money
Every joke you tell just be extra funny
I mean, you can even dress extra bummy
C*caine, bathroom break, nose extra runny
And I gave you all I got, you still want extra from me
Oxford want a full-blown lecture from me
And the Lexus pull up, errr, like hop, I hopped out, like wassup?
Err-err-err, step back, hold up, my n*gga, you s*ck, hold up
I studied the proportions
Emotions runnin' at a Autobahn speed-level
Had a drink with Fear, and I was textin' God
He said, "I gave you a big d*ck, so go extra hard"

[Tyler, The Creator:]
For your boy
I'm tryna' cop the new McLaren
With the vertical doors
I'm watchin' Freak and Geeks
Got a trampoline in my room, damn

(2, 3, 4)
Hold your f*ckin' horses
N*ggas really f*ckin' thought that T lost it
Like I bet it at a auction
Been exhausted
I been workin'
While y'all silly bros smoke like broken exhaust tips
F*ckin losers

[Lil Wayne:]
Hold your f*ckin' ponies my homie
I'll whip your donkey by my lonely
I eat p*ssy like Shoney's (Yeah)
It's Tunechi, homie, master of ceremonies
I knock 'em down, domino effect, no pepperoni
I swear

[Tyler the Creator (Lil Wayne):]
This them Golf boys, like them Hot Boy$
For the nine-nine and two-thousand
But its the two-thou'
And the one-four
And the one-five
Yo, what up Wayne?
(What up Slime, n*gga go hard)
Yeah, I'mma go hard like before 'caine
Got too much drive, need like ten lanes
Life is a broad, and she give brain
That's that road head (yeah)
That's a dream car
Got a full tank of that same year I was born
That's that one-nine-nine-one
'Nother n*gga like I, you won't find one
Cuz n*gga I'm a god, a divine one
Tune

[Lil Wayne:]
My trigger finger wise
But my 9 dumb (yeah)
Middle finger blind
So it's f*ck A-N-Y-one
F*ck, skate, and die son
A hundred ways to die son
I'm starin' at a tramp-on-lean
Make my eye jump
Use Adderall like alarm clocks
Wake my high up
Stakes are high, well done, and prime cut; eat up
I stick my Rolie in her mouth, let the time come
She got hair like Sheneneh, and eyes like Wanda
Oh my goodness

[Tyler, the Creator:]
Wayne, them b*tches ugly
These n*ggas colder than Tommy' buddy
Ye, we hittin' models
Like Tony Parker be hittin' bottles
B*tch, I'm goin' harder than yellow cabbies stoppin' for Lionel
(Black ass n*gga)
They be duckin' us n*ggas, shout out to Donald Sterling
Boy, lets get a scrimmage
And cut some n*ggas
I'll bring the Clippers
And a couple owners that's kinda German
You bring the nooses
And a couple trees, where the money grow
And get bodies burnin
Cause I'm tryna' hang like I'm Mr. Cooper
Or Jews in Berlin
Or some n*ggas from Alabama, Birmingham
My new music's all over the street like Erick Sermon, was
F*ck us
Maybe we should team up
Anti-Golf boys
Cuz I don't f*ck with me either
I'm a liar, I'm a faggot, uhh..

[Lil Wayne:]
Son you need Jesus
But I heard he left Sunset, to go on tour with Yeezus
Well, I'm prayin' for the new Yeezys
And you pussies prayin' that we squash the beef
Like zucchini
I know; it ain't gain, nor fame, nor tame
Or lame, nor strange

[Tyler, The Creator:]
Nah faggot, it's Golf Wang
(2, 3, 4)